Through the Pain
by Sophia Hawkins
Summary: Oneshot. Because the show focused too much on Erin after the x-over episode 'Daydream Believer'. Voight has to help Trudy through the grieving process of Nadia's murder.


Through the Pain

Voight made his way to the front of the station house, everyone else had already left for the night, it was quiet, too quiet for a police station, _even_ in the middle of the night, for that matter, _especially_ in the middle of the night. He and Olinsky had been the last ones out from upstairs, Voight had been putting on his coat when Alvin came back and said something about Trudy at the front. He could see her now, sitting behind her desk, looking at the top of the desk, not really seeing it, absently running one hand over it like she was trying to get something to surface through the wood.

"Trudy," he said, watching to see what she did.

His desk sergeant made no sign of having heard him. Ever since the news of Nadia's murder, Trudy had done a good job to act like her usual hard-as-nails self, but Voight knew better. He knew only _too_ well after sitting through the trial, and coming back home. Trudy liked being a hardass to all new people in the house, and she especially didn't think she'd take much liking to Nadia in the beginning, but the young woman had grown on the desk sergeant, and though she wouldn't openly admit it, Voight knew there had been a bond between the two, which for Trudy especially was no small feat. She kept her friends close and hers was a small circle, she was very particular about the difference in friend, and someone you worked with, someone you knew better than just to say hi, 'friend' was the fewest of the few both due to where they worked but also due to what kind of person Trudy was. She was private, she didn't let many people in her inner circle, Nadia had been one of the blessed few, and now…

Now the bomb had dropped and the fallout was starting to take place.

He went over to her and said to her, "Come on, Trudy, it's time to clock out."

Trudy kept her head down and let her eyelids be the only thing visible of her eyes. Voight went over to her and touched her hand. "Come on, Trudy, there's no point sticking around here tonight."

Her only response was a low, zero energetic, "I don't want to go home, there's nothing for me to go back _to_ tonight."

"Well you're not staying here," Voight told her and yanked her out of her chair, "Come on, you're going with me."

Trudy rolled her neck and whined like a spoiled child, "I don't want to go to Molly's and mingle with the others, I don't feel like seeing anybody tonight."

"We're not going to Molly's," Voight said, "We're going back to my place, we can get just as good a stiff drink there, and no cover charge."

Trudy didn't argue much after that though it was obvious from the way she dragged her feet that her heart wasn't in much tonight. The ride back to Voight's house was a quiet one. When they finally arrived, Voight unlocked the door, they went in, he turned on the light, and Trudy collapsed on the couch as he went to find a good bottle of scotch to uncork. After the last couple weeks they'd had, they _both_ needed it.

One drink became two, two became four, four became too many to remember. It wasn't enough to make Voight forget anything, all it did was take the edge off a little. He looked over at Trudy and saw with her next drink, she was still all there but that wouldn't be long term, she was _hoping_ to forget, even if only for a little while. As was the reasoning behind most addictions, that little high you got off of whatever it was, if you only got a moment out of it where the pain was gone, then to you it was worth all the hell that followed, just so long as there was another minute of temporary bliss. That was the problem, and that was also where it was hard to know where the line was drawn, some people could stop just short of the line, and others did a 100 yard sprint past it and right head on into a brick wall. There was nothing wrong in wanting to dull the pain, kill it temporarily, there was nothing wrong in putting a few drinks away to blot out the hell of the past few weeks for one night, the problem was when that became the only option of coping. Voight knew that Trudy hadn't worked through the pain of losing Nadia yet, he also knew she would have to in time, and he also knew that in time she _would_ , because that was just the kind of person that his desk sergeant was.

The hour became late, Trudy put away a few more drinks, the alcohol was slowly but surely starting to take effect, her responses were slowing down, her words started to become slurred when she actually spoke. The look on her face though told Voight it still hadn't been enough yet to drown out the pain of grieving, and probably _wouldn't_ come until she blacked out entirely.

Voight grabbed Trudy's hand as she reached for the bottle to empty out the last few ounces and told her, "That's enough. Come on, let's get you to bed before the bottom falls out."

"I...'m not going baaack to myyy place," Trudy said, trying to keep her head from swimming.

Voight pulled her to her feet and told her, "I'm going to put you in my room, I'll take the couch."

Trudy was halfway to being dead weight in his arms as he walked her over to the stairs, and then up the stairs, and over to his bedroom, and he _just_ got her over to the bed before she collapsed on it. A long and loud sigh escaped her despite her face being buried in the covers.

"It's been a bad month," Voight summed up as he patted the back of her head softly.

A sound of affirmation followed as Trudy slowly nodded her head.

"I know," he told her.

Trudy rolled over onto her side and said to him, "Ha-a-ank, you're a goo-o-o-od man, but you shoulda killed Yates…or brought 'im back here and let _me_ kill him."

"I know," he said, "But I think this will work too…any day, at any time, he could get shanked by any one of the thousands of inmates in that prison, and he _knows_ it. He thought he was invincible, but we _got_ him."

"Not in time," Trudy replied.

"I know," Voight said somberly, "The only consolation is that there won't be any _more_ victims."

Trudy mashed the side of her face into the pillow and slurred, "An' there won' be anymore Nadias either."

"I know," Voight nodded his head morosely.

* * *

Voight was always up early, that was part of being a cop, today however he was up even earlier than usual, and with good reason, he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. The sun wasn't up yet but the sky was just starting to transition from black to a slightly lighter gray. He stood at the foot of the stairs and looked up, and listened, and heard nothing. He took the stairs slowly, one at a time, and reached the door to his room. It was still slightly ajar, he pushed it open and saw Trudy sprawled out in the middle of the bed tangled in the sheets, the lights had been left on all night. Trudy's hair was a mess and sticking out in all directions, her complexion looked a shade paler than usual, this was _not_ the ever professional if not unconventional desk sergeant his house knew, and his patrolmen learned to fear. _This_ was the Trudy only _he_ knew, and that was how he intended to keep it.

Trudy was already feeling the effects from her drinking the night before, her eyes weren't open yet but she was groaning and looked like she'd rather be shot.

"Oh good, you're awake," Voight said sarcastically as he stepped in.

Trudy raised both hands up to her face and cupped them over her eyes to block out the light, "I feel like I got run over by a truck."

Voight stood by the bed and hovered over her. He told her, "Take the day off, I'll assign Burgess to desk duty today to fill in for you."

"No, no, _no_ , Hank," Trudy lowered her hands, opened her eyes and started to sit up, or tried to, "I don't need a day off, I'm _going_ to be at work today…I…" she shook her head, "It won't be the same working there without Nadia to talk to…but I _can't_ handle going back to my place right now…it's too quiet, all there is to _do_ there is think about Nadia…I can't deal with that right now."

"I know," he said, "It's hard, and it hurts, we've had to get through it before, and we'll have to get through it again, and we have to get through it now. It never gets easier but we know we'll get through it."

"Never feels like it though," Trudy told him.

He nodded, "I know, Trudy."

Trudy groaned and fell back against the pillows, "How bad did it get last night?"

"Let's review," Voight said to her, "The house is still standing, we're both still alive, and nothing got set on fire or smashed to pieces…all in all I'd say fairly well, you show amazing restraint when under the influence."

Trudy tried to laugh but it hurt her head too much. She adjusted against the mattress and that's when she realized something that mortified her. She grabbed the top sheet covering her and got untangled from it and looked under it and saw most of her clothes were gone.

"My God," she groaned as she tightened the sheet against her.

"Grieving and alcohol don't necessarily mix, but sometimes they're the only equation," Voight told Trudy as he stood by the bed, "I know."

Trudy tried to sit up and looked around the room, "What happened to my clothes?"

"I ran them through the washer," Voight answered, "Quicker than trying to get them dry cleaned in time. They weren't in much condition to wear after last night."

Trudy kept one arm pressed against the sheet and used her free hand to cover part of her face as she groaned and grumbled, "Hank, I am _so_ embarrassed."

"There's a _reason_ I put you in here last night," he told her, "I've been there, last thing anybody needs is to wake up hung over, naked, and surrounded by open windows for the neighbors to get an eyeful, take it from me, it ain't a lot of fun."

A weak laugh escaped from Trudy, but it was quickly replaced by a look of depression and desperation.

"I still can't believe this," she said.

There was a sudden extra weight added to the bed as the mattress sunk and the springs creaked, Trudy looked up and saw Voight sitting on the edge just a few inches away from her.

"The lives we lead, bottling up seems like a popular option, but it's all gotta come out somewhere, Trudy. There's nothing wrong with losing yourself to the grief once in a while, nothing wrong with getting drunk out of your skull now and then if it helps you work through it…just as long as you don't _stay_ lost in it. Everybody's got to find their way back and go home again, you know?"

Trudy opened her mouth to say something, and tried a couple of times, before she squeezed her eyes shut and told him, "Oh God, Hank…I miss her so much."

Voight put his arms around Trudy and held her close and rubbed her back as she leaned against him and cried, the _only_ thing she hadn't done the night before in her drunken rage and stupor.

"I know, Trudy, I know," he told her softly, feeling his own throat pinch tight with a lump, "I do too."

Incoherent sounds found their way out of Trudy's throat now that she finally started and found she couldn't stop. She gripped Voight's arm with one hand and clung to him like he was her lifeline, right now she wasn't too sure he wasn't.

"She was so young…she had her whole life ahead of her…she was going to be a cop…"

Voight stroked her back and her mussed up hair and said only, "I know."

They stayed that way for several minutes before Trudy finally seemed to be winding down, just as she about seemed to pass out altogether, Voight eased her back against the pillows and reached to cover her up, but his desk sergeant wasn't having it.

"No you don't," she told him, "I said I'd be at work today, and I will…I just need to get ready…Hank, go get my clothes."

"I'll get you some coffee too," he told her, "You need it."

Trudy moved to get up, then remembered her situation, and pulled the top sheet off the bed and wrapped it around herself as she padded over towards the bathroom. She turned back and said to Voight, "Hank…thanks for everything."

"Hey," he said to her, "If you need to come back here tonight and stay again, you know my door's open to you."

She managed a small smile, "Thanks, Hank, I really appreciate it."

"Anytime," Voight told her as he moved over towards her, placed his hands on the sides of her head and kissed her on the top of her head. "I'll get that coffee."

"And my clothes!" she called after him as he disappeared down the stairs.

Voight stayed downstairs for a few minutes, by the time he came back up with Trudy's uniform slung over one arm and a mug of hot coffee in the other hand, he could hear the water running in the bathroom. He stood outside the door and knocked on it, there was no response but through the door he could hear the muffled sound of sobbing; he opened the door and stepped in the bathroom and went over to the shower where the noises grew louder with every step he took. He tapped the knuckles of two fingers against the side of the shower wall to subtly announce his presence. After a few seconds the curtain moved and pushed a couple inches to one side and Trudy's hand reached out from close to the shower floor; Voight leaned down and pressed the coffee mug into her hand, and it disappeared back behind the curtain and the sobs subsided momentarily.

"How're you feeling?" he asked her.

The curtain moved to the side again, only an inch or so this time, and over the running water he could hear Trudy answer, "Feel like somebody cut me open with a razor and left me to rot."

"Yep, that sounds about right," Voight replied, speaking with the authority of experience. He sat down with his back pressed to the wall and he asked her, "You sure you're up to this?"

"Hank, if I go home, and there's nobody there, and it's just the silence, and all there is for me to do is keep thinking back…I'll go crazy."

Been there, done that too, he understood perfectly.

"Alright then," he said, "Let's do this."

* * *

Trudy felt somebody's hand press against her forehead as a few loose strands of hair were brushed away from her face, and her eyes popped open to find out who the hell was with her. She realized that she once again was back in Voight's room, in Voight's bed, and laying on the other side of the mattress was none other than Voight himself.

"Oh my God." Trudy knew that she hadn't had as much to drink tonight as she had last night. Then she had to stop and think back and make sure that it _was_ last night, and tonight. Yes, she could remember, she had gone in to work, and she'd lasted her entire shift, and it _had_ been hell to do knowing that Nadia wouldn't be there, but she stuck with it throughout the whole day. And at the end…she'd taken Voight up on his offer, come back here and stay the night again purely for the sake of _not_ having to be alone all night with just the silence and the memories. They'd come back here, had a few beers, after that it started to blur. Horrified by the possibility of what might've happened, Trudy shot up in bed and tossed back the covers and saw she was in her black uniform pants and the white undershirt she wore under her uniform shirt; and Voight she noticed was wearing a black T-shirt and gray sweatpants.

"No offense, Trudy," he said _almost_ perfectly deadpanned, "But there are some things _not_ on my list what to do before I die."

That got a small snort of a laugh out of her. With a clearer head tonight, she looked around the room and saw the clock and saw it was 4:30 in the morning. "So what happened _this_ time?"

Voight leaned back against the pillow on his side of the bed, looked towards the ceiling and recapped, "We had a few beers," he thought about it a minute and amended that statement, "Maybe a few more than that…and then we came up here and conked out, that's the best of my recollection, and that was about six hours ago."

Well, Trudy still felt lousy but she knew it wasn't anywhere near as bad as when she woke up yesterday morning. Somewhere in the back of her mind it occurred to her that that wasn't just because of the difference in her choice of drink the night before.

"You've always been there when I needed you, Voight, you know that?" she asked him.

"I try," was his simple response.

Trudy groaned softly as she turned on her side and hugged Voight. "Thanks, Hank."

"Anytime, Trudy," he told her as he put one a hand on her back, "Anytime."

* * *

First thing that morning, Trudy marched into work looking her typical 'chew you up and spit you out' self, the guys from upstairs gave her their morning greetings, the patrolmen and rookies still knew to fear her. She took her place behind her desk and carried on with her duties for the day. A reflex she still hadn't been able to break, half a dozen times throughout her shift she found herself reaching to buzz upstairs to talk to Nadia, at the last second taking her finger off the button before she pressed it. She looked around the station house, seeing all the faces of everyone who came in and passed through during the day, Intelligence, patrol, perps, lawyers, through it all one thing still flashed through her mind; it was incomplete, something was missing, the station house was a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle and their final piece was missing, without it they were incomplete, but they had to learn to work that way again now.

"Trudy."

She looked up from the report she was filling out and saw Voight walk up to the other side of her desk.

"How's it going?" he asked simply.

She thought about the question, and the answer, and finally with a small nod she told him, "Good, it's going good." Not great, not yet, not for a long time, but good for now.

"Good," he replied, "I'll see you later."

He started to walk away but she called to him, "Actually, Hank," he turned around and she told him, "After shift change tonight, I'll see you tomorrow."

"You sure about that, Trudy?" he asked.

She nodded, "Yeah. Thanks, Hank."

"No problem, Trudy," he responded, and turned to walk away, "Have a good day."

Yeah, she thought to herself as he left, maybe it would be just that, the first _good_ day in a long time.


End file.
